The flash of cameras lit the sidewalk like fireworks. Voices buzzed through the warm evening air, laughter and gossip swirling among the crowd that always lingered outside Novalight Models. It was a place of status, glamor, and artificial perfection. Every man in a suit, every woman in heels, every young hopeful model trying to catch a break—it was all staged like a fashion show, even in the street.
And then he arrived.
Pushing a rusty, squeaky cleaning trolley, hunched over like gravity had punished him more than age itself, came an old man no one had ever seen before.
"What the fuck…?" someone muttered from the edge of the crowd.
"Yo, who let this fossil out here?"
"He's pushing a damn mop bucket—holy shit, he's the janitor!"
"Dude stinks like expired milk, Jesus!"
"At least take a bath next time, old man!"
